


Alone

by thevioletveela



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevioletveela/pseuds/thevioletveela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was never really alone to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago and posted it on ff.net. Further, but necessary, explanations are at the end.
> 
> It is rated T for suggestive, but non-sexual, themes. Please enjoy!

His first memory of his parents was the only memory he had of the two of them together. In fact, it was one of the only happy memories he had of all three of them together as a family that had not faded away with time.

He was only five years old and was sitting on the woven rug by the fire. Looking out the window, he could see that it was nearing sundown. The light was low in the sky peering behind low hanging, gray clouds. It was that time of year when the trees were bare of their leaves and the air was getting colder. A light falling of snow caressed the glass of the window and he remembers hearing the _chop, chop, chop_ of an axe against wood.

And then it stopped.

The front door opened several minutes later to reveal a burly Sami man with a cord of chopped firewood under one arm. Bits of frost grasped firmly onto his thick, dark beard even as he stomped his feet at the entrance of the room to rid his boots of any clinging ice. Brown eyes, alike to his own, smiled warmly at him as soon as he had finished placing the wood in a pile by the door. The man walked further into the cabin, only stopping to briefly ruffle the boy’s hair, and then trudged over to the kitchen area to greet the blonde woman stirring a pot of stew over the wood-burning stove. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a kiss on the cheek, as she smiled at him with loving eyes.

Later that evening, they sat around the round wood table enjoying their meal of lapskaus. He wolfed down the lamb stew, leaving only the carrots behind. His mother scolded him with a stern look, and he begrudgingly nibbled on the mushy orange bits until they disappeared. The two adults spoke with one another throughout the remainder of dinner, but he doesn’t remember what was being said. He was too focused on getting rid of the orange slop that only seemed to multiply at the bottom of his bowl before his eyes.

The next earliest memory he could recall was one that he would rather forget. For years he attempted to push it towards the deepest recesses of his mind, and was semi-successful in banning it from popping up. The images, however, came up in fragmented pieces. He was seven and he remembered his mother weeping at the front door. A man dressed in a thick coat and winter hat stood on the other side of the threshold. He didn’t recognize him, nor did he understand why the man looked remorseful at the two of them. Looking behind the stranger, he caught sight of a plain snow sled. It looked a lot like his father’s, but it made no sense for this strange man to be in possession of it. A white sheet with light splatters of rusty red covered a massive mound on the back half. He gripped tightly onto his mother’s skirts. He did not understand what was going on, but he could only guess something terrible had happened by the way her cries only seemed to grow harder as she held onto her swollen belly.

Pappa didn't come home that night like he promised.

He once voiced his wonderment of his father’s disappearance aloud. It was several weeks after the strange man’s visit and she was tucking him into bed. His mother only smiled sadly at him, combing her fingers through his fair hair. He remembered the cold, clammy, shakiness of her hands that contrasted with the shine of the sweat on her brow. She sang him a song to lull him to sleep. With heavy eyes, he watched her waddle to the door to leave. She held tightly to the doorframe and gave a sharp gasp, her hand immediately flying to her rounded stomach. Moments passed until she looked back at him with tired eyes.

Days passed and his mother’s health only seemed to decline. Her breathing came out in rapid and shallow pants. It was as if she couldn’t get enough air to fill her lungs. He was only in the midst of his boyhood and he was spending his days and nights caring for his mother. He did not know what was wrong with her, but did know it had something to do with the baby brother or sister he was told he was going to have. She kept crying out in pain, her knuckles a stark white as she grabbed onto the mound growing on her stomach. He didn’t like the baby. It was hurting Mamma and he didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to eat and was visibly growing weaker. He would sit by her bedside holding her hand and she didn’t have the strength to sit up or tell him it was going to be all right. She just slept. More than anything, he wanted his father home because he knew that he would know what to do, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. It was with this thought in mind that he laid his head down by her side, his hand still firmly grasped in her cool one.

When he woke, he knew something was wrong. He remembered hearing the faint howling of the wind outside and feeling the cool draft that came in through underneath their wooden door. It seemed normal, only something was terribly wrong. It was quiet. The sound of his mother’s labored breathing was nonexistent and her hand was cold and stiff in his own. His heart pounded hard in his chest and he could hear the roaring of his blood in his ears as tears filled his eyes. He let out a choked sob and cried. Tears spilled down his cheeks like a river over a waterfall. He wept by his mother’s body for what seemed like hours. Wiping a sleeve under his running nose, he tried to peel his hand out of her stiff grasp.

He was alone.

“Kristoff?”

He blinked his tears away, taking several moments to finally look down at the strawberry blonde before him. He wasn’t sitting at his mother’s deathbed and he wasn’t alone. He was here with Anna. She was very much real and alive. He let out a shaky breath and then felt something wet with prickly hairs nudge his bare forearm. He turned his head to Sven, who stared at him with forlorn empathy, and lifted a hand up to pet the reindeer’s velvety snout.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly.

He felt one of Anna’s warm, small hand slip into his own; her other hand wrapped around his arm. She gave him a slightly reassuring smile, “You know, we don’t have to do this now.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We have to do this. _I_ have to do this.”

Anna stared up at him, her blue eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. Seeing none, she sent him a curt nod. He called out to his reindeer a promise of return and led the petite girl away from the sled. Though the path was now overcome by heavy plant growth, he knew it very well. The twists and turns were engrained into his memory. Further up ahead to their left were wild patches of green sprouting out of the soil.

“Carrots,” he said, breaking the silence and gesturing to the bed of wild vegetables. “As a kid, I absolutely hated them – especially when my mother cooked them. They were mushy and the texture just felt downright unpleasant…”

“I’m assuming your opinion of them changed?” Anna laughed lightly.

He snorted, “I tolerate them when they’re cooked. I prefer them a hell of a lot more when they’re raw.”

He held onto her elbow to guide her around a tricky bend, all while making sure that she didn’t smack her head against a low hanging branch. “I began to appreciate them a lot more after my mother’s death. When I realized I was all on my own, I left our cabin and walked for what seemed like hours, searching for an adult. I found a Sami reindeer herder a few miles east. I explained to him what happened and he followed me back to… he followed me back. I refused to go back inside, so I spent some time outside with his herd of reindeer while he checked it out. That’s when I met Sven.

“I was really lucky to find someone so willing to help a little boy like me out. He buried her far from the cabin and prayed that she and my sibling would find peace. After that, he helped me find a relative that could take me in. It took a few days, and even then I learned a lot about caring for reindeers. He’d give me a bundle of carrots to feed Sven a couple times a day and when we did locate someone, an ice harvester who said that he knew my father, the herder just left Sven and me with him. It was around that time that I learned the ice trade.”

Anna was quiet the entire time he talked. He was a little confused as to why she hadn’t said a word, but then she stopped walking. The look on her face explained everything. Unshed tears glazed her eyes and she looked at him with sad empathy, because she also understood the pain of losing both parents. She raised a hand to cup the side of his face and she gave him a watery smile, “Thank you for sharing this with me, Kristoff.”

She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, her soft lips contrasting with the roughness of his jaw. He smiled softly at her and reached for her hand. “Come on,” he said quietly, “we’re almost there.”

Further into the thicket, a single wooden cabin stood. The very sight of the establishment weighed his heart down. There were too many bad memories overpowering the good. Anna walked a few steps forward, but got tugged back by the arm. Kristoff stood still, unable to go any further. He didn’t realize what was going on, because all he saw was the tree stump where his father would chop up their firewood and the chimney to their wood-burning stove that would emit smoke every time his mother cooked. The two glass windows were dirty with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs hung from the doorframe.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay with this?” he heard her ask, except it was muffled. Her voice sounded too far away for him to understand, because it seemed as if he was traveling back in time.

She repeated herself again, but this time he heard her loud and clear. He let out a deep breath out of his nose and nodded twice. She gently tugged on his hand and he followed her closer and closer towards his childhood home. Releasing his hand, she grasped the doorknob and twisted it open. The door opened up with ease, revealing the grimy, darkness inside. The girl turned to face him first, watching for signs of reluctance. He gave her an approving nod, and so she hesitantly stepped into the darkness, pulling him with her.

It smelled of musk and old wood, but even in the dark it noticed that it was unchanged. The woven rug still laid in front of the fireplace, the wooden icebox stood next to the stove, three matching chairs surrounded the round table by one of the windows, and a large straw bed occupied the door-less room to their right. He stood in the doorway observing his surroundings, until he noticed the strawberry blonde princess peering at something on the fireplace mantel.

It was a small, dusty picture of his parents on their wedding day. His father, a tall and burly Sami, stood side-by-side next to his mother, a petite and blonde Norwegian. They both wore the traditional gakti, both articles of clothing sporting square buttons that publically displayed their marriage to one another. He stepped further into the cabin, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet. He found himself standing by her side, inspecting the image himself. Despite it being a simple, black and white sketch, it perfectly showed the vibrancy and detail of their garments and the love and happiness in their eyes.

“Hi,” Anna whispered. He turned his head to face her, except she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was focused on the little picture propped up on the mantel, eyes moving to look between both of the subjects.

After clearing her throat, she spoke a little more clearly to the portrait. “Hello, I’m Anna. This isn’t the most conventional meeting, but I would have loved to have gotten the chance to get to know the two of you.”

He was dazed into silence.

“I know that it must’ve been hard to realize that you wouldn’t be around to see your son grow up, but I can assure you that he matured into a fine and kind man. I am grateful for having the fortune of knowing him personally, and I just wanted to let you know that his love for the both of you has not faded. And I know yours hasn’t either,” she continued, sniffling lightly as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She softly smiled up at the portrait as if she were almost embarrassed. “I only wanted to say, on your behalf, that I am very proud of him and what he’s accomplished and what he’s become.”

His arms reached out for her before his mind could even process it, wrapping tightly around her waist. Even with the massive height difference, he managed to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Her arms found their way around his broad shoulders.

Sighing deeply, he let out a muffled, “Thanks.”

Her dainty fingers made their way up to the nape of his neck, curling into the fair hair as a way to ease him. He slightly pulls away from their embrace to stare at her with sincere gratuity.

“I might cry.”

Anna giggles and pulls him back into a hug, “Go ahead, I won’t judge.”

**Author's Note:**

> I worked on this piece of writing for a few days about a year ago, just researching and researching things, such as Sami customs and lifestyles, traditional Norwegian meals, and little details like if an icebox was normal for that time period. I wanted it to be as accurate as could be, but I can't be sure if I got all the details right.
> 
> Anyway, when I originally posted this, I didn't edit it. I haven't edited it now, so please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> With that said, here are the further explanations crucial to understanding Kristoff's parents' deaths:
> 
> Kristoff's father died from an ice harvesting accident.
> 
> Kristoff's mother died from a missed abortion, or spontaneous miscarriage. This could be from the stress of learning of her husband's tragic death or from the stress of realising that she was now a widowed and pregnant single parent who had to raise a 7-year old son. She didn't die from the miscarriage itself, but from sepsis, which is an infection from the remaining fetus that wasn't naturally expelled from her body, since her body still believed her to be pregnant.


End file.
